Seasickness
by icearrows1200
Summary: It is not convenient to be ill when the world rests on his shoulders. Neither is it easy on his crew mates, who happen to specialize in worrying. One shot, early bday gift for ctj.


**For ctj:**

* * *

The kid wasn't any better. Not even a little. Not even a degree of fever less.

He was as sick as a dog—a treasure dog—retching up every ounce of food he was given. Bread? Out. Soup, perhaps? More than disagreeable. Water? Hmm… that seemed to work. Link was living on a nutritious diet of Linebeck's freshwater supply and because he _had to eat_ , Linebeck would force some broth down his throat thrice a day, which he would promptly vomit into a reeking sick bucket, like clockwork.

He had a hellish fever that billowed off of his forehead like pyroclastic flow; there were rashes on his chest and back, as if someone had smeared strawberries on his goose-bumped skin; and when he managed to deliriously and incoherently spew words, his voice was as hoarse as a bullfrog's. Linebeck was no doctor, but this sure looked like the plague.

What a terrible thing, the plague, which left parents childless and made children into orphans, and sometimes managed to wipe out whole clans in one go. What struck so indiscriminately with hardly a rhyme or reason, siphoning the life out of those whose bodies could not fight such battles. What vanquished kings and peasants alike, the smite of gods, a calamity without catalyst that took no prisoners and never gave warning.

Linebeck had healed Link's wounds before, but never like this. What could he do that hadn't already been done?

Wet cloth, check.

Ice, check.

Sick bucket, check.

Course set for Mercay Island, check. The old man would know what to do. The island was an unfortunate three-day trip away, and Link's illness had begun nearly a week ago. If he had only insisted the kid take a break…

Ciela and the other two were only good for worrying. Though perhaps the worst was Ciela, who could do nothing else but flutter about aimlessly, fraught with despair. Damn her stupid fairy form. She was of no use to them in that state. The most she was capable of included keeping Link company, and that was also useless, because the kid was either sleeping or hallucinating.

Despite his best efforts to keep her out of his way, she was the pinnacle of irritating, and Linebeck's nerves were particularly flammable.

 _His fever is higher, Linebeck._

 _I know._

 _He needs water, you idiot!_

 _I know, I know,_ I know.

 _You're drinking at a time like this? Link's cough sounds like he swallowed rocks._

 _For Din's sake, Ciela! I know! And I'd be_ more _than appreciative if you would just_ shut up.

After that, the ship became an eerily silent vessel. Even the gulls had been struck dumb. Only the waves bothered harmonizing with the painful sounds of Link's retching. Other than that, he only slept, which at the very least meant he wasn't in pain. So Link slept, which left Linebeck to ship maintenance, Link maintenance, and alcohol maintenance.

Two days dragged along in this perpetual state of limbo. The image of Mercay Harbor in his mind never looked so sweet. Night had fallen, and he was in the midst of hanging up his coat when Ciela finally spoke to him.

"Link wants to talk to you."

"He's awake?"

"He is," Ciela answered rather heavily. "Though I don't know how long he'll hold out. He's been through so much. I wouldn't blame him if he slept until next week."

"Me either," Linebeck said absently. It was a good thing he hadn't been drinking. The kid was finally conscious and the last thing he wanted was to say something colossally stupid.

Dragging himself into the cabin, Linebeck sat on the edge of Link's bed, beside his feet. His eyes, half-lidded, were red-rimmed and bloodshot; his hair, a sweaty mess. Everything about him looked foul and pained. Linebeck had never felt so sorry in all his life—truly, he hadn't. It only now struck him how unsettling it was to see Link, who had the sea and wind at his beck and call, reduced to such weakness at the work of disease.

Linebeck cleared his throat. "Hey, kid."

Shifting himself higher on the headboard, Link swallowed dryly. "Hi, Linebeck." He coughed. "You look tired."

Linebeck huffed indignantly. "Me? Tired? Take a look at yourself before you go making accusations."

"I sleep all the time, but I'm not really tired."

A foreign pang settled in Linebeck's chest. "Huh. Um… Sparkles said you wanted to talk."

"Yeah." Closing his eyes, Link slumped in his bed. "Did I ever tell you that Tetra is really a princess?"

Stealing a quick glance at the pirate statue in the corner, Linebeck furrowed his brow. "No."

"Well, she is," Link continued. "Tetra's true identity is Princess Zelda of Hyrule. She and I are supposed to find a new Hyrule. We were going to start a new kingdom just like the one in the legends. It was a promise we made to an old friend…"

Link hesitated, coughed furiously into his elbow, and when he was finished, there were tears in his eyes. Oh, no.

"Linebeck, if I die—"

"You're not going to die," Linebeck said instantly. "Don't get yourself all worked up like that."

"I said _if_ ," Link hissed. " _If_ I die, you've got to make sure Tetra gets back to her normal self. And tell my sister—"

"Shut it, kid. You're not doing anyone any good. Go to sleep."

"I'm tired of sleeping."

"See? You're tired. Get some rest."

"Fine," Link choked. "But first you have to promise that you'll find a way to get Tetra back to normal."

Linebeck, however, knew that it was foolish to make promises because he couldn't keep any of them.

With Link's desperate glare fixed on Linebeck, the latter felt that the deck above had never looked more appealing. Straightening the edge of the blanket as he stood, Linebeck was prepared to leave—but stopped long enough only to push Link's bangs out of his eyes. Maybe he _should_ promise, Linebeck pondered as he made his way above deck. If it made Link any more at ease, perhaps it would be best to give in, and then just wait for him to recover.

It was too late now. He was on deck as the ship chugged diligently through dark waters. A moonless night sky hung above him, an infinite blackness pinned to each corner of the horizon. Ciela was perched atop the railing like a firefly, either unaware of or unbothered by Linebeck's arrival. He joined her at the railing, and in the distance he could spy the Isle of Ember, meaning they had _finally_ entered the Southwestern Sea. They were making good time.

"What did Link say?" Ciela asked, indifferent to any pretenses of privacy.

Though he could have refused to talk, Linebeck figured she ought to know. "He thinks he's dying."

"What?" Ciela gasped. "That's what he said?"

"He told me that if he were to die, then he wanted me to carry on saving Tetra."

"Oh," She said breathlessly. "He's being selfless, as always. That's a little different."

"No, I don't think so. Link's a lot of things, but he's not dramatic. He wouldn't say it if he wasn't being serious."

"But he's only a child," Ciela differed. "I'm sure he's confused and panicked—he spends half the time hallucinating."

"Give him some credit. Something tells me he knows a lot more about death than you do."

"How can you be so negative? Do you _want_ him to die?"

"Of course not!" He barked. There was an unwarranted tightness in his chest as his heart thrummed indignantly in his ears and his head pounded with an incessant headache. It was as if everything within him wanted out: no more thoughts, no more feelings, no conscience to talk to and no heart to break.

Link had asked the impossible of him. And this impossibility fell strictly on Linebeck's shoulders because he was too much a coward to even try. He had refused, and now the kid was deathly ill (there, he said it.) below deck, body weakening at the will of some unknown force, quite sure that his friend would remain a statue forever. Everything about him made Linebeck miserable.

The dark sea grew blurry and with a pang of self-loathing, he realized he had begun to cry. His throat was so pinhole-tight that he couldn't even tell Ciela to scram without giving himself away. Worse yet, it was a desperate reflection of helplessness; bawling like an idiot had nothing to do with making Link any healthier. They say you shouldn't count your cuckoos before they've hatched, but you also shouldn't grieve for them before they have the chance to peck their way out of the shell.

The discomfort in his lungs told him he was holding his breath. Keep holding it and he would pass out. Exhale and out with the air would come a sob, and from there, he didn't think he'd be able to stop.

He surrendered and exhaled. Face in his palms, elbows on the railing, eyes stinging with salt, he cried. His shoulders trembled and his lips quivered. Every foul aspect of weeping seemed to manifest itself on him as each part of his body managed to grieve in its own way.

"He's going to make it," Ciela assured weakly. He had almost forgotten she was there. How humiliating.

"Saying it doesn't make it true, Ciela," he hiccupped. "I've never _seen_ anyone so sick in all my life. We'd be better off with some voodoo potion than wasting time getting to Mercay. Both of us are helpless. There's nothing we can do."

Silence fell as Linebeck made attempts to control his breathing. All of which failed.

"Actually, there is something I could do," Ciela muttered. Her voice was hoarse and stiff.

"Hm."

Ciela inhaled deeply. "Fairies can heal people, you know. Even if they're on the brink of death."

Linebeck dropped his hands from his face and stared at her. "You'd do that?"

"I've thought a lot about it. If it's worth it, then I will."

"You'd kill yourself for him."

"I believe in him," Ciela explained. "I believe that only he can save this world and restore peace to the seas. So yes: I'd die for him."

Linebeck, bewildered, gazed out at the sea. In the distance, he could spot Cannon Island, an infinitesimally small speck on the horizon. "You're insane," He concluded. "You've said some pretty ridiculous things, but this—this isn't courage, Ciela. It's just dumb."

"If I don't, and he dies, then the seas will fall into ruin and _everyone_ will die. You and me included," Ciela snapped. "It seems like a small price to pay."

Linebeck wiped his eyes, the last of the tears having dried. "And then what? The old man made it pretty clear that you have a big part to play in this."

"It can be worked around. Leaf and Neri are perfectly capable and he'll have you and your ship to take him places."

Linebeck folded his arms at his chest and huffed curtly. "For someone so certain he'll be okay you sure have given this _ultimate sacrifice_ a lot of thought."

"It's not all about practicality," she confessed. "In all my life I've never been so close to anyone. No one makes me laugh or smile like he does; no one is as brave or interesting. No one but him makes me feel like I could take on the whole world. I love him. And when you love someone, all you can think about are different ways to show that love."

He didn't respond. There was satisfaction in pretending that the unchanging horizon was of interest.

"You feel the same, don't you?"

For a long while he continued to have a staring contest with the sky. Anything to keep his bloodshot eyes away from Ciela. What right did she have to make such accusations? Moments away from deciding to sacrifice herself, and _that's_ what she told him?

 _You understand, don't you Linebeck? Let's do it together, then, for old time's sake. A double-suicide. You take a sword; I'll go with poison. A solution befitting legend._

The sheer stubbornness of that fairy was going to make things difficult. What should he tell her?

 _You'll never recover all your memories? The old man will kill me? Link won't forgive me if I let you? Link loves you?_ I _love you?_

One thing he knew with certainty: though he and Ciela disagreed every hour of every day, there wasn't anyone else he'd rather disagree with. A most pathetic excuse. But it was true.

"Don't do it."

"I never expected to hear protests from you."

"I'm serious," Linebeck insisted. "Link's strong; he has a fair chance. Don't die in vain because it'll just be an extra pain for us."

"Hmph. That's a fair point." Ciela yawned and hopped off of the railing. "I'm sure he'll make it through the night. But if we get to Mercay and Grandpa can't do anything, then I'm not going to take any chances."

"As you wish," Linebeck conceded with a roll of his eyes.

But they didn't argue further, for there were more pressing matters at hand. Linebeck watched the horizon adamantly, imagining that it would make the distant figure of Mercay appear faster. Dawn was creeping closer in the east, turning a small slice of the sky a fierce teal. Neither had slept all night; his bed had never sounded so appealing.

And yet leaving seemed wrong, so he stayed with her a while longer. Nothing was resolved, but everything was better all the same.

"I don't think I'll ever have kids," Linebeck remarked. Far on the northern horizon appeared the faint silhouette of Mercay Island. It was a wonderful sight.

Deciding he ought to check on Link, Linebeck slipped below deck and poured a glass of water. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Tetra, gray and cold and frozen in the middle of what looked like some kind of protest. There was nothing princess-like about the girl—nothing dainty or elegant—and for a moment he actually wanted to meet her, to know why Link would cross seas and battle beasts for her safety.

Link was fast asleep again, drooling into his pillow and curled up into a ball so small he hardly took up a quarter of the bed. Pressing a hand to his forehead, Linebeck was surprised to find that his fever had relented. There was still heat, yes, but no longer was he burning up like an engine. Linebeck gave his shoulder a shake.

"Hey, kid," Linebeck greeted. "Feeling any better?"

Gingerly opening his eyes, Link accepted the glass of water and took a few sips before handing it back to Linebeck. "A little, I think. My stomach doesn't hurt so much."

"Good," Linebeck responded. He hesitated awkwardly for a moment. "I think your fever broke. "

"Yeah, maybe," Link concurred weakly. His voice, though hoarse, had an edge of relief to it. "Hey, Linebeck, do you think I could have some broth? I think I could keep it down."

"Sure, definitely." Linebeck swept into the kitchen and opened a jar, pouring the gelatinous contents into a pot. Though Link's stomach may have improved, an uncomfortable feeling had begun to settle into Linebeck's gut. Talking to the kid was beginning to make him anxious, as if the sudden bought of health would fail at any moment.

From the opposite side of the room, Link called out to him. "Where's Ciela?"

"Still on deck, I think."

"Oh."

"Do you want me to get her?"

"No, it's fine." With a sigh, Link shifted onto his side and watched Linebeck struggle to start a fire in the stove. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"What?" Linebeck turned on his heel. "Oh. No, I wasn't scared. I was right all along; I told you you'd be fine."

"I guess so. But still…" Link yawned and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He looked like a caterpillar: all green and wrapped up in a cocoon. "I think I want to take a break for a little while. I hope Tetra doesn't mind."

Hiding his grin, Linebeck returned to the broth. "I think she'll understand. She doesn't strike me as someone who wants you to work yourself to death."

"Try telling that to her. On our ship I was responsible for swabbing the entire deck."

"I guess that's why you're so good at it," Linebeck deadpanned. When he turned back to Link, the kid had already fallen asleep. Though the broth was done, he gauged that waking Link up again would be unkind, so he shut off the stove and took a cup for himself.

Ew. It tasted vaguely disgusting. Maybe it had gone rancid. No wonder Link had trouble keeping it down.

The poor kid. Temples and phantoms probably paled in comparison to this. But with the nightmarish week coming to a close, he found there was some level of satisfaction in caring for his crew, even if he never quite perfected it.

It was, after all, a captain's job.

 **A/N: Happy (early) birthday to ctj! I'm early more than two weeks, but I really wanted to get this up for you. You've been such an inspiration to me over the years that I've literally been incapable of going a year without writing something Phantom Hourglass related. But really: if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be starting college as an English major (I would probably be in biology or something) this fall and I'm so extremely glad that I know you. I hope you enjoyed this "sad Linebeck fanfiction" because it is my duty to crank up the sad-o-meter when writing.**

 **To everyone else: wow, congratulations for hanging onto Phantom Hourglass a whopping ten years after it came out! Thanks for reading!**


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